


A Pointed Affair

by Veul_McLannon



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adora is bi, Book!Sacharissa, F/F, Film!Adora, First Time, PWP, Sacharissa is bi, everyone is bi, everyone is drunk too, idk it's just gay, if you know me irl dont u dare read this, possible mild exhibitionsim??, pre-Moist bc lbr i ship Moist/Adora to the stars and back, this wasn’t going to be PWP but it got away from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 07:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14890433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veul_McLannon/pseuds/Veul_McLannon
Summary: Adora Belle Dearheart has, frankly, had Quite enough of this energetic little journalist following her around. She plans to teach her a lesson. The best-laid, plans, however...(Set pre-Going Postal, and indeed pre-Dearheart Sr’s death, although after he had the Clacks taken from him.)





	A Pointed Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Discworld books: rarely pass the Bechdel test in the 12 I have thus far read   
> Me, cracking my knuckles: But What If There Were Lesbians Though
> 
> (Also I’ve read Thud! since writing this and already have a fluffy fic ready to gO trust me; I just need to post the long one I’ve been writing for months fIRst)  
> As usual I own nothing and am having rather more fun frolicking around Ankh-Morpork than I really should, perhaps.

“Miss Dearheart!”

Adora froze at the street vendor, hand outstretched towards his best (though perhaps that was not saying much) chocolate. She resisted the urge to grind her teeth – unsuccessfully – and stitched on a grin to throw at the by now somewhat perturbed shopkeeper. Then she ran.

“Miss Dearheart, hello? The Times would love to have a word with you, if you have...”

The voice faded away as she rounded the corner at top speed. She didn’t stop, however; only a fool would slow down immediately after shaking off her pursuer. And Adora Belle Dearheart was no fool.

 _Gods_ , ever since they lost the Clacks the woman had been hounding her for a Story. Anoia alone knew what she wanted; the news had happened as far as Adora was concerned. Yes, she was distressed; no, they weren’t managing; _but you know this anyway, so why ask?_

She reached home out of breath and not a little irritated at the lack of chocolate. Bloody chirpy little bitch with her bloody chirpy little newspaper chums. The three of them were too eager for words.

Adora sighed and headed to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

***

She managed to pass two days without seeing the woman. Cripslock, she was called, apparently; quite the name in reporting circles.

Then, as she was heading home from the opera, she heard it.

“Miss Dearheart!”

Too close at hand to run, and in any case there were too many people. She was damned if she would stand and talk civilly to the woman though. She dived down a side alley and waited until her prey followed, as she knew it would.

A curly head with a _ridiculous_ little fascinator attached peered round the corner somewhat nervously. “Miss Dearheart?”

In a whirl of fabric, Adora grabbed the other woman from the edges of the throng and shoved her against the wall, one hand wrapped around her throat and a tiny silver dagger hidden in her other. It never paid to be too careful in Ankh-Morpork, and any girl worth her salt soon learned the worth of sharp objects.

“ _Why are you following me?_ ” she snarled, increasing the pressure on the wide-eyed journalist. “I _told_ you I had nothing to say to you and your people.”

There was silence; she distinctly felt the Cripslock woman’s heart rate speed up under the hand wrapped around her throat.

Dear me, journalists with hearts. Whatever next, conmen with souls?

“I... I’m...”

She took (some) pity and let her breathe again, but replaced her hand with the tiny silver knife. This seemed to do very little for the other’s composure. If her ridiculously blue eyes got any wider, you could stick them on a turtle and make them into new little worlds.

Adora sighed. “Just... stop following me, all right?” She stepped away and turned to leave.

Then she turned back. Asking hadn’t worked before, so clearly a new tactic was in order.

“Tell you what. You can buy me dinner and whatever you can get out of me you keep.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure it’s novel enough a concept to be interesting to you.”

The journalist licked her unnaturally-pink lips. Not that Adora _looked_.

“Thank you. My name is Sacharissa, Miss Dearheart.” She looked terribly out of place all of a sudden. Probably thanking all the gods she hadn’t died in an alley off Pseudopolis Yard. Today.

Adora quirked a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She made sure of that. “Charmed, I’m sure, Miss Cripslock. Shall we?”

She led the way out into the still-seething post-performance throng.

***

They left the Poisson Rouge two hours later, both just on the right side of tipsy (that is, the side where you could still see your feet before you tripped over them). Sacharissa clung giddily to Adora’s arm as the pair walked in a determinedly straight line down the middle of the road.

“Well that was fun,” said Sacharissa, giggling a little. “I’m sure there was something I had to do, but I can’t quite remember...”

Adora cackled and pulled her closer, replying, “My house is just up here. I’m sure we can find you... _something_... to do.”

Sacharissa’s reply was so prompt it was as though she had expected it, an affirmative spilling from between her lips across three octaves and two syllables (an impressive feat at the best of times).

Adora let herself in as she always did; her father being Out and her brother working away. It took much longer for her to find the lock than usual, and she was aghast to discover some blighter had moved the thing a couple of inches to the left. Criminals these days stopped at nothing.

The pair of them, through combined force, managed to cram themselves through the portal without unlinking arms, Sacharissa by now clinging rather desperately, like an especially rare multicoloured octopus. Adora decided then that enough was enough, and shoved the other woman up against the hall wall (rather more void of portraits and fripperies than it had been in the past), ignoring the way her stupid blue eyes widened again briefly in fear. Adora flicked her eyes down briefly to those irresista- ah, irritating, lips, and grinned darkly.

Sacharissa seemed to get the message remarkably quickly, given the amount of alcohol she had imbibed, and for the second time that day Adora felt the journalist’s heart rate increasing, although this time through layers of clothing, rather than a hand with murderous intent. It was quite refreshing, really, in a dizzy kind of way.

“We seem to be making... rather a habit of this,” Sacharissa managed to say, quite breathlessly, those blue eyes suddenly shades darker.

Adora hummed lowly in response, and Sacharissa just had time to moan before she crushed their lips together with considerable enthusiasm, effectively pinning the other woman to the wall, running ravenous hands over every inch she could reach. She immediately found herself incredibly frustrated by the existence of corsets as a mechanism for preventing the enacting of shenanigans, but then Sacharissa let out a high little whine, tilting her head slightly, and Adora found herself immediately and totally abstracted.

Some five minutes of rather indelicate kisses later, Adora recovered her wits enough to begin the arduous work of unlacing Sacharissa’s shirt and then corset with two hands, while simultaneously trying to distract the other woman with her mouth. This difficulty of this task (especially when just on the right side of drunk) meant that the activity soon devolved into Adora experimentally nipping at the other’s lower lip for a change of pace, which prompted a moan so unexpectedly loud that both women stopped kissing and Blinked.

Adora smirked and proceeded to utilise this newfound knowledge to her advantage, reducing Sacharissa to something approaching jelly as she kissed and bit her way along the other’s jaw and further on down her neck. The effect this had on Sacharissa’s quite ample bosoms almost prompted Adora to forget her task, but the necessity of corset removal in furthering this _exceedingly_ enjoyable activity spurred her onwards.

Having _finally_ managed to dump the offending object on the ground, she ran proprietary hands up under her chemise, tracing the line of her spine under soft skin, before deciding that really, if she was going to do this she may as well do it properly, and pulled the thing off over her head, exposing the rest of her torso to the night air.

Sacharissa gasped, having managed to conquer a mere four of Adora’s jacket buttons in this time, and being therefore a little behind on the general agenda.

Adora turned her attention from Sacharissa’s neck to the new expanse of flesh to which she was now privy, causing the other to whine rather desperately and clutch clumsily at her half-up half-down hairstyle (formerly a neat little bun). She was quite enjoyably engaged in mapping every inch of Sacharissa’s chest with her mouth and hands when she heard her name.

From outside.

Both women sobered up incredibly quickly in the circumstances, Adora shoving Sacharissa towards the stairs and gathering up the various accoutrements which she had managed to divest from her person. The door to Adora’s room clicked shut as the front door opened, and the pair waited, breathless, until the footsteps in the hall made their way to the other end of the house.

There was silence for a minute as they contemplated how close they had come to discovery, before Sacharissa registered the line of Adora’s eyes in re: her heaving chest from the unexpected run up the stairs. She reached out slowly towards the totally oblivious Adora, and tilted her head up for a much softer kiss, her own breath catching in her throat as her bare breasts brushed the buttons pressed up against her.

The existence of buttons at this stage in the game was something which would have to be rectified immediately.

Unfortunately, although mentally they had both regained something approaching full capacity, this was not information which had travelled to their motor neurons, and thus attempting to free Adora from her many, _many_ buttons was a task requiring much muttering, fumbling and cursing (as with two pairs of hands between the persons concerned, kissing becomes somewhat difficult).

“I’ll say one thing,” said Sacharissa bluntly after Adora eventually shed the jacket and skirt unceremoniously and began work on her own corset (“I bet you will,” muttered Adora _sotto voce_ ), “That outfit is a certain method for both parties to tell if they want to sleep with the other.” She laid her own skirt over the back of a nearby chair and watched, eyes glittering with mirth at Adora’s predicament.

Adora rolled her eyes. “The thought hadn’t occurred to me. Ah, _thank gods_ -” she dumped the corset on the floor with its fellow and pulled Sacharissa towards her, eyes flashing. “Where were we?”

“Well this has to go for a start,” Sacharissa replied, running both hands up under Adora’s shift and unceremoniously throwing it behind her, skimming hands lightly over newly-accessible skin so that her head fell back on instinct and she clutched blindly at the other woman, pulling her close again for a kiss unencumbered by things such as lace and buttons. Both moaned irrepressibly into the other’s mouth, trying to make as much skin touch as physically possible.

To this end, they had shed the rest of their layers by the time Adora, who was closer, unexpectedly hit the bed with the back of her knees, pulling Sacharissa down on top of her.

Adora slithered further up the bed to allow the other woman room, and was rewarded by the sight of Sacharissa moving predatorily after her, kissing her again briefly on the lips before travelling further down, and... down. She desperately tried to control her breathing as Sacharissa’s intent became clear, but soon found herself unable to concentrate on very much other than rather incoherent gasps and aborted attempts at Sacharissa’s name. She wound a hand in the hair still in something approaching an updo, holding it away from her face (and, if she was honest, giving her _something_ to grab at other than the sheets... the woman was really very good at this).

Sacharissa snaked a hand up her torso and lightly brushed her exposed breast, causing her to arch her back at the added stimulus and unleash a broken moan any Seamstress would be proud of. Sacharissa hummed back at her, which if anything was only going to send her over the edge that much faster. She whined rather pathetically, and hated herself for it. But g _ods_ , that clever, annoying little mouth could do some truly incredible tricks...

She tried to keep her hips still, remembering in some depth of her brain how _annoying_ it could be otherwise, but when Sacharissa added another hand and unexpectedly flicked a thumb over both nipples simultaneously, she lost what remained of her self-control, and soon after found her vision vanishing in front of her.

When she came to, Sacharissa was lying on her side like a work of classical art, absolutely unabashed, and, gods _damn_ her, smirking at a job well done. Adora had to kiss her just so she didn’t have to see those lips.

Which of course led to kissing her elsewhere, as she had seemed to enjoy it so much. Adora was fully occupied with kissing and licking the expanse of her Caravatian chest, so it came as something of a surprise to Sacharissa when a hand slipped between her legs, and she grabbed at Adora’s hair and dragged her back up for a proper kiss, grinding into her hand.

Adora had a sudden thought, her mind drifting back to the alleyway earlier that evening (gods, had it only been that evening), and broke away from the kiss. She whispered close to her ear, “Tell me no if you’re not happy with this,” and gave her another soft kiss, then wrapped her free hand around Sacharissa’s throat and pressed both hands forwards simultaneously. Sacharissa’s eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open; she managed a breathy “ _gods_ yes,” before Adora increased the pressure and returned her attention to the other’s jawline, close enough to make sure she could hear any change of heart.

Sacharissa’s breath was coming in tiny whines now, and Adora tried twisting her fingers just _so_ – and kept up the pressure until she had ridden out the waves. She kissed her again gently and, feeling somewhat more charitable now she had got her own back, asked, “All right?”

The response was a stunning affirmative, but not one which required words.

***

At some point after dawn the next morning, Adora awoke with a shock to see that she was sharing her bed. After a few more seconds, she registered that she was naked. Even further down the line, she saw the other occupant was in a similar state of undress, and finally, noted that the aforementioned other occupant was awake. Oh no, wait, _finally_ was the blinding headache. She groaned. How much did she _drink_ last night?

She looked around for some method of removing the nuisance from her life, and her gaze fell upon certain items of clothing which had migrated closer to the bed during the evening’s festivities.

Adora half-heartedly threw Sacharissa’s corset at her.

“Get dressed and get out, Cripslock – and stop bothering me.”

Sacharissa appeared to have woken in an instant and clambered off the bed good-naturedly. She didn’t appear to have a hangover at all. “Same time next week then?” She grinned down at Adora.

Adora turned away from her, wrapping the covers more securely round herself; Sacharissa had nearly finished dressing by the time she replied.

“We’ll see.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Pride month, lads! Comments as always super Super appreciated, though I know lesbians tend not to be as popular (story of my life lmao) ^^’ I was so torn about posting this, I’ve never written anything approaching an Actual PWP before so hope it’s not atrocious!


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